


There's a Woman...

by Prettie_Parker



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur being a saint, Boundary Issues, F/M, Family, Implied History of Abuse, Polly and Arthur save the day, Post War, blurred lines, everyone has their battle scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettie_Parker/pseuds/Prettie_Parker
Summary: You can’t find that young man in the eyes staring back at you, not anymore. Sliced open and bleeding after Greta, all traces ripped clean from his bones after the war. He looks at you in a way that’s hard to read. So guarded and trained in neutrality, he’s hard to define. But you see something in his eyes that reminds you of yourself.Of loss, anger, and transformation, from the girl before her mother passed to the one you are today. You swear you see a piece of yourself in him, like looking in a mirror. Everyone’s intimidated by Tommy these days, but not you – you know what real monsters look like.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like to post all of my work on here, but I did write this at 4am. It's pretty much just the deranged ramblings of an exhausted mind. I don't know how often I'll update this or how far this story will go since I have two others. 
> 
> I have no idea if any of this is factually accurate for the time period. Again, written in the haze of no sleep. I tried to verify my assumptions of girls getting married in their teens to avoid going into the system, I’ve heard of it happening in the US, but I couldn’t verify it for 1920′s UK. This is post-war, reader is young in this, somewhere like 19-20, Arthur 32ish, Tommy 29ish.
> 
> If you enjoy it, kudos and comments are always appreciate.

Wrapped in your quiet cocoon, the fabric’s soft like a distant memory of better days as it envelopes you. The heat of your body held tight beneath the blanket, warming your skin from the inside out. The room is cold, the air around your face frigid as you burrow your nose deeper against the blanket. The sound of rain on the window lulls your mind as you dose in and out, unsure if it’s sleep or the whiskey that keeps pulling your under.

With a shift and creak, the heat changes around you, filling on one side, escaping from another. The chill from the wall reaches out for you back, poking and prodding at your spine as you reach for the warmth in front of you, seeking it out unconsciously. It’s warm and toasty, soft to the touch as you nuzzle your nose against it. The musky scent of whiskey and gun power winds tendrils up your nose as your lips part and you breathe it in.

“Vera,” The sound of your name fills the room, off a breath that’s low and gritty and muffled from sleep.

But you recognize it even in the haze of your own mind as the softness bleeds to subtle as he turns in towards you.

Your eyes flutter open and meet the most startling blue eyes you’ve ever gazed upon lying beside you. Even now, after years of seeing them, sometimes they can be so enchanting, so bewitching, they leave you frozen under their spell as you gaze into their mighty grip. He stares back you, barely blinking as if you’re all he can see in the dark.

“I did it again?” You whisper softly to him. No need for volume when he’s lying this close.

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to remember how you got here as Tommy’s heavy breath fills the air around you once again, only further away this time as he turns from you.

“Yeah, ya did.” He states flatly. You’re eyes shoot back open as you hear a knock on the wall above your head.

You stare at the sharp line of his jaw as Tommy stares up at the ceiling lying beside you, thinking the line of it looks as dangerous as the razors on his cap.

“Found her, Arthur!” Tommy hollers to the room over as he gives the wall one more steady knock, the sound echoing against your face as you cringe from the sheer volume of it.

Resigned to leaving your warm safe place, you kick back the blankets as the feel of cold frigid air assaults you on contact, sending gooseflesh forming against your skin, hair standing on end, your breasts tingling against the chill as a shiver runs down your spine. Your night gown offering little in the form of resistance against the brutal winter nights.

Your head still feels foggy, swaying and shifting like a boat on rocky seas. Surely, it’s the whiskey. A Shelby now, you drink often and plenty, but tonight seemed especially plentiful. You lost track after your fifth glass of whiskey.

You’re not even sure what drew you in here this time, the urge unclear and hazy in your mind. You spot a glass of water on the table beside Tommy’s bed and think perhaps you had gotten up for it only to return to the wrong spot. Poised to move and return to your bed, you place your hands unceremoniously on Tommy’s chest to balance yourself before swinging your leg over him as he lets out a groan in protest.

You could have climbed off at the end of the bed you suppose, but this was the fastest way out, and at this time of night and whiskey on your brain, added work just seemed unnecessary. You aim to brace your knee against the mattress on the other side of Tommy as you climb off, but the bed’s smaller than you considered and he’s lying against the edge.

You’re clumsy from sleep and had far too much whiskey, and you realize your miscalculation a little too late, as your leg falls off the side of the bed, toes landing on the icy floorboard as you sink down on top of Tommy’s waist.

“Fuck sake, Vera!” Tommy growls through clenched teeth, shooting up in bed with the feel of you on top of him, but as he rises, you slip down his body and settle across his lap.

The sudden jerk in position throws you off balance as you try to climb off him. Too quick for the whiskey to catch up with as you sway, about to topple onto the floor in a heap before Tommy snatches your waist and you quickly clutch at his shoulders trying to steady yourself and not land face first on the frigid hardwood floor.

Your eyes meet and for a second your swallowed up by endless blue. Your hearts racing though you’re not sure if it’s from the near fall or the depths of Tommy’s eyes staring into your soul. A shiver runs down your spine, but you can’t be sure whether it stirs from the chill in the air or your precarious position.

Hands clutching at his shoulders as his arms wrap around your waist, breasts pressed against the heat of his chest, your night gown pooled high around your thighs as you teeter straddled across his lap. Stuck between the chill of the room and the heat between your bodies, holding you captive with the grip of his eyes as the steady rhythm of his breath against your lips calms your rattle.

You search his eyes boldly in the near darkness. Searching for the young man he had been before. Always laughing about something, talking on about his dream to race horses, and always getting into mischief of one kind or another. But you can’t find that young man in the eyes staring back at you, not anymore. Sliced open and bleeding after Greta, all traces ripped clean from his bones after the war. He looks at you in a way that’s hard to read.

So guarded and trained in neutrality, he’s hard to define. But you see something in his eyes that reminds you of yourself. Of loss, anger, and transformation, from the girl before her mother passed to the one you are today. You swear you see a piece of yourself in him, like looking in a mirror. Everyone’s intimidated by Tommy these days, but not you – you know what real monsters look like. He’s like a riddle waiting to be solved, though you’re quite certain it’s not yours to unravel. And for all his sharp edges and unpredictable moods, you still trust him, even now.

The sound of a throat clearing catches both your attention as your gaze shoots to the sound, you find Arthur leaning against the doorframe watching you and Tommy silently. There’s something in his eyes, something you almost never see and it’s not aimed at you, it’s aimed squarely at Tommy, but you recognize it just the same, tangled up as you are… Men and their cocks never cease to amaze you.

“Don’ be fuckin’ ridiculous,” you scoff, pushing off Tommy to swing your other leg over and climb off him. You know what it looks like, you’re not a fucking fool, but the idea it could be anything other than a misunderstanding was absurd to you.

“Get your wife, Arthur.” Tommy insists as he practically lifts you off him. Unable to get rid of you fast enough as you nearly trip again from the momentum and whiskey, falling against Arthur’s waiting arms.

Wife – the word is always jarring when you hear it. No one in the Shelby home calls you that, but Thomas and you still haven’t figure out why. Arthur’s wife, but only in name. Anyone sensible knows that. He married you at fifteen in a hasty ceremony done only to save your life. Arthur is many things to you - hero, protector, confidant, friend, but husband still isn’t one that fits, and luckily for you, he doesn’t expect it to.

Your father died in a factory accident when you were ten. Your mother was a good friend of Polly’s, you grew about around the Shelby’s. After she passed of consumption, Polly took you under her wing. Until the parish authorities came calling shortly after the funeral, taking to you stay with the fathers until they could locate your next of kin.

You lasted a month there, before you managed to run away. Returning to the only place you felt safe anymore. You had been frantic and desperate, you couldn’t go back. They would come for you, Polly knew they would as they had her own children, but she had no legal claim to you. So she devised the only plan she could muster on such little time, in the whirlwind of your desperation… Marriage.

If you were married they’d have no way to take you. You’d be property of your husband. While John was the closest in age, he was already married to Martha. Tommy was out of the question as he languished at Greta dying bedside. That left only Arthur. A man thirteen years your senior, he refused at first, but when confronted with what they had done, what they would continue to do, and Polly’s word they’d figure something out later, he agreed. You weren’t easily convinced either, but Polly told you it was the only way and you couldn’t go back there.

You got lucky with Arthur. He let you know right away he had no desire for you and after leaving the care of the father’s, you needed to hear that. He said he’d appreciate if you helped Polly out around the house, but he no expectation of you ever entering his bed. You never even shared a room before he left for the war, bunking with Ada instead.

That’s how you ended up falling in love with Tommy’s bed. Having free reign of the rooms once the men left, you and Ada tried them all, and Tommy’s fit just right. It had this little divot in the old tick mattress that fit you just right. You could wrap the blankets around yourself and curl into it like a swaddled baby. You felt safe and warm there. You freely relinquished it when the men came home, but it still calls to you from time to time.

When the men came back from war, you were a woman - a young woman, but a woman just the same. And things felt different between you and the Shelby brothers. Different then the way they saw and treated the scared girl left behind. Still Arthur never pressed you, keeping his word. It was unspoken he could get his needs met anywhere he pleased as long he kept you safe and taken care of. After the war, you shared a bed, but he never touched you unless you reached for him first.

And nearly five years married, home from the war almost six months, you had never consummated the vow. Arthur Shelby was many things to you, but husband never quite seemed like one of them. But you did love him. You loved them all, even Tommy and his unpredictable moods and antagonistic jabs. So when Arthur offered to let you go, you declined. This was your family, where you wanted to be. You think maybe one day you’d like to give him a baby. You know he wants one and he certainly deserves it, but you don’t desire any of that now. Not sure you ever will. You still feel like damaged goods. You don’t know what the future holds, but you feel certain this is where you belong.

“Easy there, I got ‘cha.” Arthur tells you, slipping an arm under your legs to scoop you up like a bride.

“I got lost. Think I had too much whiskey.” You explain to him, leaning into the warmth of his chest, your face burrowing into the curve of his neck.

“That’s a’right. Let’s get ya back to bed, little lady.” Arthur tells you, holding you close with care. That’s what he calls you, not wife, sometimes Vera, but mostly ‘little lady’, has since you were small.

“Gotta stop doin this, Vera.” Tommy’s calls with impatience as Arthur carries you back to your bed.

“Night Tommy.” You answer, already half lost to the throws of sleep.

Once you’re gone, Tommy turns to his dresser to retrieve his pipe, unrolling it carefully. He plucks a bit of tar between his fingers, rolling and pinching until he has it just right. He burns just the outer edge of it, the sweet medicine crackling lightly under the flame, before he places it at the edge of his pipe. Drawing his lips to one end, he brings the other to the flame, letting it crackle and burn as he breathes in relief.

Just enough to quiet the nerves and endlessness of his mind. Placing the pipe down carefully on the desk beside his bed, Tommy rolls against the mattress, his body seeking out the heated spot you left under the blanket. His face burying against the pillow that had rested beneath your head as he breathes you in deeply, letting images of you mix and dance with the opium as he closes his eyes to drift away.


	2. There's A Woman || Part 2

“You got a wild one ‘ere, Arthur. Best keep an eye on her.” John’s joking voice storms through the door, filling the home on Watery Lane as Polly unlocks it and everyone funnels inside after a long night at the Garrison. John spins you out on his arm into the entry way, having practically danced the whole way home.

“I can’t be tamed, Trouble.” You tell him with a playful wink as you call him by your favorite pet name, planting a quick kiss of thanks on his cheek for the good time before he heads home to his herd of kids.

You shoot a pointed glance at Tommy as you pass to make sure he heard your words too. He’s been hovering around you all night, sighing and trying to get you to have a seat and calm down. You’ll have none of it though, instead you take off for Ada standing near the fireplace, hooking your arm through hers as you both giggle and begin to spin around the room in dizzying circles. 

The whiskey rich in your veins, leaving you both hollering and carrying on as you folic clumsily around the small sitting room, until one of you trips and you both tumble to the floor in a heap of laughter against the old rug.

“Christ sakes,” Polly sighs “A’right, off to bed with the both of you before you break everything in the house.” She orders, like a good mother looking after her flock as she pulls the pin from her hat and places it down on the coffee table.

“A’right, you got the word.” Arthur tells you, coming up to you with a slow labored step of his own, reaching for your hand to help you back on your feet.

“Dance with me, Arthur.” You giggle as he helps you stand, wrapping your arms around his neck as a snort gets caught up in your fit, the sound only making you laugh harder. In one swift move, Arthur pulls your arms from his neck and bends down to swing you over his shoulder as you squeal in surprise and excitement.

“It’s off to bed for you, lil’ lady.” Arthur says, moving for the stairs, his uneven drunken steps jostling you about on his shoulder, making you laugh harder as you hang down like a rag doll.

“Fuck sake Arthur, put her down.” You hear Tommy’s frustrated voice fill your ears, watching his black leather shoes come into view from where you hang down near the floor, drunken giggles spilling free with the bounce from every labored step Arthur takes.

You bump up on his shoulder as he takes the first few steps upstairs, snorting loudly as you imagine this is what it must be like to ride a wild beast upside down, but you don’t get far before you feel Tommy take ahold of your arm and Arthur’s too, bringing his brother to a halt.

“You’re drunk brother. If you fall, you’ll break both your necks. Put her down, ey?” Tommy insists, his voice low and unintimidating, but absolutely unquestionable.

“A’right,” Arthurs finally concedes reluctantly with a nod, letting you down slowly on the step in front of him, Tommy’s hands bracing you for good measure.

You steady yourself on the banister as Arthur rises again and meets your gaze.

“I wasn’ gonna drop ya.” He tells you earnestly, before his gaze drifts to Tommy standing beside you both on the stairs.

“I know, Arthur. You’d never let anything happen to me.” You reassure him with a gentle smile, his eyes as glazed and glassy as yours must surely look. 

But it’s the doubt you see in Arthur’s gaze, that look that makes him seem so vulnerable when he thinks his family doesn’t believe in him. You want him to know you don’t feel that way, you believe in him, you trust him. After everything he’d done for you, he’s more than earned that.

The insecurity slowly dissipates from in his eyes as he smiles softly at you, running his thumb tenderly across your cheek for good measure.

“That’s right, sweet girl. Come on, let’s get to bed.” He instructs, his hand falling from your face to give your shoulder a quick pat as he grips the banister and slips past you, pulling himself up the stairs.

You meet Tommy’s gaze with a mischievous glint as he comes to meet you on the stairs.

“No,” He tells you firmly in warning with a slow shake of his head, practically reading your mind.

“I want to dance.” You smile at him cheekily, before making your move.

You try to dart past him and back down the stairs, but Tommy snakes an arm around your waist before you can get by, pulling you against the front of him as he starts climbing the stairs, dragging you with him. You giggle and squirm against him, trying to struggle free, but you’re no match for the determination of Thomas Shelby, least of all when your drunk.

You both reach the landing at the top of the stairs, Tommy huffing in frustration as you carry on as if this is all just a game. His hair falls in his eyes as you twist in his arms to face him, undeterred by his unrelenting stubbornness.

“Dance with me.” You tell him eagerly. It’s not a question and the wide mischievous grin on your face says you aren’t done playing tonight.

“Not tonight, you’re going to bed, Vera.” Tommy orders, denying your request as the arms around your waist continue to lead you into the bedroom you share with Arthur.

Moving past the open door, Tommy lets you go as Arthur shrugs off his jacket. Still humming with the buzz of whiskey, you begin to twirl about the room, arms slowly rising above your head as you go, watching your skirt flare out and spin around you. 

You only stop when you hear a loud “oofff” and a creak fill your ears. You halt mid twirl at the end of the bed, skirt still swaying around you as you turn to see Arthur lying face down across the bed as if he simply collapsed upon it.

Your hands fly up your mouth as a spill of laughter escapes you with the sight of him. This is one of the many things you adore about Arthur, he’s always fun and amusing, even when he doesn’t intend to be.

“A’right you, time for bed.” Tommy order again as he moves across the room toward you.

“Arthur, tell Tommy to dance with me.” You giggle, your eyes on fire as they hold Tommy’s stubborn pair, cheekily antagonizing him as he reaches for you and you slip your arms around his neck, pulling him into position whether he likes it or not.

“Tommaye…” Arthur mumbles in a low half-sleep slur from the pillow his face is buried against.

“There’s no fuckin music. Get into bed, ey?” Tommy grumbles in frustration as if you’re being impossible. Rapidly losing his patience with you, he tries to back you up toward the bed, but you only counter his efforts by trying to sway softly in his arms, trying to force him to move with you.

Shamelessly amused by the irritation mounting on the sharp features of his face, the storm clouds forming in the blues skies of his eyes.

“Now ya just bein’ mean.” You pout, feigning insult as his face finally cracks a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, seeing right through your attempts to appear hurt as you swat at his shoulder playfully.

Tommy doesn’t let down his guard often these days, but you’re starting to think you might be one of the few people that can still disarm him on occasion, as the arm around your back draws you closer and his other hand extends out to take your own.

“Just one.” Tommy concedes, quickly taking your hand in his own and pulling you tight against him before he sends you spinning out toward the bed without warning. You’re barely able to catch your breath as a burst of laughter spills from your lips in surprised delight, before he pulls you back against the cage of his arms. 

And for the briefest of moments, he’s the Tommy you remember from your childhood, the young man who was always laughing and full of mischief. Drawing you against him, your hands lock around the back of his neck as Tommy’s hands settle around the small of your back, as he slowly begins to sway with you. The room settles into a quiet kind of stillness, interrupted only by the occasional creak in the floorboards as you step.

With your arms around the back of his neck, your hands play absently with the shaven hair at the back of his head. The prickly hairs amusing to your numb fingertips as you sway gently together by the faint glow of candlelight. 

You lean into the warmth of him, resting your head against his as you watch a smile slowly curl on Tommy’s face, a real one, the kind he rarely makes since the war. It’s absolutely breathtaking to watch as it makes your heart thump a little faster and summons up a grin of your own.

Your eyes find his as you slowly sway together. Those dangerous blue eyes of his, holding you in one of those moments where they pull you to him like an invisible force, more mighty than any you’ve ever felt. It coils and tugs at your belly, drawing you to him, but feels lite on your breath.

 You find yourself giving into this new feeling like surrendering to a force greater than yourself as you slowly lean in against his lips. Your touch is soft and lite as it brushes against Tommy’s mouth. You feel his grip tighten around your back on contact, before his lips press back against you. A shot like a spark jolts through you as Tommy kisses you back. Your lips part, a shaky breath slipping past the seam against his waiting pair. 

Nerves tighten in your belly as your heart thumps faster, you haven’t been kissed proper since before you were married. And it never felt like this. You feel Tommy’s hand leave your back to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly as he kisses your more deeply, drawing your top lip into the warmth of his mouth.

You explore the feel of his lips, soft and full against your own. Your touch cautious as you learn the feel of his kiss. Caught up in the moment, you lose all train of thought as you feel Tommy’s tongue faintly glide along the curve of your top lip. It feels warm and wet in a way that makes your belly coil tighter, your breath quicken. 

Curious to know what he tastes like too, you mirror his movement, letting your tongue swipe briefly against his bottom lip pressed in the fold of your mouth. You hear a low groan of approval rise up from somewhere deep within Tommy as you do. It’s a sound you haven’t heard in a long time, that suddenly stirs up a memory from years before, during your time at the children’s home, under a very different set of circumstances. 

But the affect is still the same, the sound has you feeling on edge as you pull away from Tommy. Suddenly unsure of your actions as your hand presses against his chest as you step away from him.

“Stop.” You whisper, your eyes pleading with him before you quickly look away embarrassed. 

Your gaze skims about the room before inevitably drifting to Arthur passed out on the bed and instantly your heart feels guilty for reasons that are hard for you to put into words. There’s nothing romantic between you and Arthur, but your still married to him.  And Arthur saved you, gave up the chance of something real with another to keep your safe. Even now, he still stands by you, keeping his promise to take care of you.

You watch Tommy’s gaze dart from you to his brother and back. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t make a move toward you either. His face expressionless and hard to read.

“This isn’t right, Tommy.” You tell him, unsure of yourself or what you’re doing.

Tommy nods subtly at you in agreement without missing a beat. Regardless of what he actually thinks or feels you can see he’s not putting up a fight. Those haunting eyes of his are impossible to read as they stare into you for a moment longer, before he turns without a word and leaves through the open door, closing it behind him.

You wipe a loose tear you find trailing your cheek as your wobble about the room, stripping off your layers with whiskey numb hands. Tugging your stockings free of your garter belt, unbuttoning your blouse, shimmying your skirt down your hips. Stripping it all away, piece by piece until your naked in the faint candlelight, except for your knickers. 

You’d never do this if Arthur were awake, never do this if the whiskey wasn’t dancing with the blood in your veins, but both stand true tonight as you move on unsteady feet across the room, retrieving one of Arthur’s long undershirts. It feels warm and safe as your pull it over your head, similar to the way Arthur makes you feel. The sleeves swallowing your hands, the ends hanging down to almost your knees.

You move to the bed, pulling Arthurs shoes off his feet one by one, careful – trying not to wake him, before you reach for the blanket folded at the end of the bed and the pull it over him. Leaning over Arthur, you think he doesn’t look so burdened when he sleeps. 

You wish he could always feel that way as you brush the sweat matted hair off his forehead tenderly with care. Arthur grumbles affectionately as you fuss on him. Reaching for your hand, he squeezes it lightly, eyes still held closed, half sleep as he draws it near.

“You’re a good girl,” He mumbles genuinely before giving your hand a simple kiss of gratitude and letting you go, drifting back off to sleep.

After what happened you know you shouldn’t, but you do. As quietly as you can with the buzzing in your brain, you sneak out of the bedroom and close the door gently behind you. Moving one room over you knock lightly on the old faded wood.

“Yeah?” Calls from the other side before you turn the knob as quietly as you can. 

You stand in the doorway, the door cracked as the subtle light from the candle fills your face. You spot Tommy lying on his bed on top of the blanket. Stripped of his buttons down, lying in only his undershirt, trousers and socks as his face turns to see who’s darkened his door, smoke steadily in his hand. He doesn’t even bother looking surprised to see you.

You don’t say a word, just meet his eyes, staring into the endless seas of blue, leaning against the doorframe awaiting his verdict. He doesn’t give you one though, everything is unspoken as he slowly pulls back the blanket on the small strip of bed beside him. Moving as quietly as you can on the balls of your feet, you close the door behind you and creep to the bed. 

You purposefully climb over him this time, watching his face, catching his eyes as you brace your hands on his chest and move slowly across his body. After what happened in the bedroom you need know where you stand, need to know he’s still the man you trust. You’re drunk, the liquor spurs on your bold desire to test his limits as Tommy’s hand steadily pulls on a cigarette, the other resting on his chest as your settle lightly across his waist.

You snatch the cigarette from his hand and draw it to your lips as you lean back on him, taking a slow steady pull from it. You search the loaded barrels of his penetrating blue eyes as you linger there, smoking his cigarette, straddling his waist, daring him to do something about either. Needing to see what you find, needing to know if you can still trust what you believe to be true about Tommy Shelby. 

It’s there you see touches of something flicker in his pupil against the candlelight, but he doesn’t move to touch you. Staring into his eyes you find the unwavering grip of his gaze. You find the Tommy you’ve grown accustom to since the war. The one who’s so indifferent with everyone these days, he drives the rest of the family up the wall.

“Find what your lookin for Vera?” Tommy asks with an air of impatience, as if he sees right through your test. 

Understands there’s nothing behind your provocative actions, but your inquisitive nature and cigarette smoke. Finding what you needed to see, you hand him back his cigarette as you climb off him. Only then does his hand move, once your nearly free of him. You feel his touch trail lightly against the skin under your thigh, but he doesn’t squeeze at your flesh or try to hold you against him as your leg lifts over his body without a fight. 

Tommy looks at you and for a moment he’s just a man staring at a woman, all dark and stormy with thunder and lightning barely contained in his pupil, but he doesn’t act on it. And it’s gone from his gaze as quickly as it came. That’s why you trust him. You claim your special little spot on the mattress and burrow into it. Drawing the blanket tightly around you, snuggled warm, you glance up at Tommy and his heavy gaze waiting to trap you.

You stare into his eyes boldly as you did before, knowing he won’t like what you’re about to say, but you press on anyway.

“I know you’re fixing races and I know about the guns.” You tell him boldly. 

You learned from the best. Watching Polly, seeing how she moves. You’ve learned if you talk less and listen more, everything reveals itself in this house. You watch as Tommy’s sharp jaw clenches in anger, watch as it flexes as his gaze heats up upon you. Not the darkness of a man looking at a woman. No, this is the look Tommy gets when his thin patience is tested and he’s moments away from dismissing you entirely.

“I’ll always look after Arthur, but I don’t want to be a good little wife who stays at home, Tommy. I don’t want to have babies. I want you to teach me about business. I want to work with you.” You tell him fearlessly, staring into his eyes, not backing down as you watch as his head slowly begins to shake in dismissal.

“Vera, it’s dirty business and you’re a woman…” Tommy sighs, turning away from you, his gaze shooting up to the ceiling as he takes another long pull of his cigarette. His anger mostly dispersed, diffused by your ambition and the knowledge your dreams are just that, dreams.

His answer frustrates you even though you know you should expect it. Women handled all the business while men were away at war, but now that they’re home it’s like it never even happened at all. Pushed aside, back into homemaking and raising children, back in their place, but that’s not what you’re after. 

“All business is dirty, Tommy. The powerful prey on the weak. An’ once you know that, you know there are no rules.” You glare at his profile in frustration for a long moment, catching as his eyes flit your way, before turning your back on him, burrowing into your spot on the mattress and trying to drift to sleep.

It’s only hours later that he wakes you, breathing hard and shooting up in bed. It’s the commotion that stirs you as your eyes open to the sight of Tommy’s back rising rapidly in the bed beside you.

You reach for his shoulder, placing your hand upon it in concern, but you realize almost instantly that was a mistake as Tommy turns on you. Twisting against the mattress in a flash, the unrelenting grip of his hands taking hold of you as his face smothers the space you breathe. Pinning you down to the mattress, his eyes barreling fury down upon you.

“Tommy, it’s me, it’s Vera. It’s ok. It’s ok.” You try to reassure him on a rattled breath. You never stay in his bed all night, you’ve never seen him life this before, but you recognize it for what it is, a nightmare.

“Vera?” Tommy’s desperate breath heaves out against your face, his arms pinning you to the bed. Sensing if you move quick or struggle it’ll only make matters worse, you hold still in his unrelenting grasp.

“It’s me, Tommy.” You whisper softly, your hand slowly, cautiously reaching up to wipe away the trail of sweat running down his jaw to his neck.

Tommy’s forehead lowers to yours, pressing against you and pushing you further into the bed. His face strains from ghosts you can’t see as he lets out a long huff that flutters against your mouth. Your heart hammers in your chest, but you remind yourself you trust him.

Without warning Tommy lifts off you, quickly releasing you before he turns away, his legs moving off the side of the bed as he sits on the edge of it. You watch the prolife of his face contort and strain before he scrubs his hands furiously over it.

You scoot over in the bed until your beside him, resting your head gently upon his shoulder.

“It’s ok, Tommy. I have nightmares too sometimes.” You admit to him honestly. Trying to explain you understand. And not the goulish horrors your mind can conjure up on a whim. These are the kind of horrors that pull deep from the recesses of your mind to the places you try not to remember, but can never forget.

“What about?” He asks you vaguely, his voice unusually deep as if his throat is tight, as his hands fall away from his face and he shoots you a sideways glance.

You let out a long sigh, nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder as you think it over carefully. 

“I don’t pray anymore.” You shrug lightly, trying not to reveal too much. “I lost my faith.”

Without further explanation, you reach for him, your hand slipping along his jaw, up to the sharp mountain peak of his cheek, feeling the stubble bristle along your hand as you go. Pulling gently, you draw Tommy’s face to yours, he resists a little, but ultimately you feel him give in.

You’re eyes hold steady, staring into his guarded fortress of tripwires and hand grenades, unafraid and undeterred as you reach for him, begging him to listen.

“We’re the same, Tommy. You and me. An’ if you open your eyes, you’ll see it too…  Let me help you. Teach me.” You tell him with utter conviction. You know it with absolute certainty, you saw it the other night in his eyes and you still see it in his eyes tonight.


	3. Theres's A Woman || Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I belonged to no one. Who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing. Who wanted everything." -Lana Del Rey  
> This chapter will more deeply a damaged young woman trying to understand her place not just as a woman, but as a woman in a family of men that she is not related too by blood.
> 
> As always Kudos and Comments are the highlight of posting :)

Tommy doesn’t respond to your request to learn about the business for so long you think he made up his mind to pretend you never asked. But then he surprises you and slowly pieces of information trickle out. Mostly at night, after you slip into his room or waking up in your special spot in his bed. First, he tells you he learned a lot in the war, all vague and unrevealing, but slowly more substantial details slip free… 

That he plans to expand the family business. How he acquired the guns and how he hopes to use them. That you should strike when your opponent is weak and that’s exactly where he estimates Mr. Kimber is… Weak. And he intends to do something about it. 

You tell him you want to help him, but Tommy only scoffs. And yet, he keeps talking, night by night, whenever you find your way into his bed. His voice low and deep against the silence that holds steady through the rest of the house. His words like bedtime stories, weaving tales against the dancing flame of the candlelight, and suddenly you realize, you’re getting exactly what you wanted.

When Tommy told you he’d teach you to shoot you were expecting he’d actually be the one to do, but like so many others things in Tommy’s life, he has more important matters to take care of and designates the job to John instead. Which you don’t mind really. You adore John, closest brother to your age and more lighthearted than the others. In all honesty, he’ll be less intimidating to learn from than Tommy and all his silent stares, and long looks that suck you in as you try to figure out what he’s thinking.

“John, you’re gonna teach Vera here how to properly shoot a gun while I take care of a few things with Charlie.” Tommy informs his younger brother as the three of you make your way through Charlie’s yard on a quiet evening as the sun slowly dips closer to the horizon.

“Right Tommy. Come ‘ere you.” John calls with a wiggle of his brow, cheeky as ever. You smile back at him as you leave Tommy’s side. John takes you to the far end of Charlie’s yard, trekking through mud and soot. Trying not to get your heels stuck in it.

John takes you where the guys come to let off some steam with a few rounds and a few drinks sometimes, out near the back of the yard, down near the canal. When he stops, you spot the small tower of boxes not far from you, broken bottles lining the top. You wait for him as he wanders over to it, tossing the broken ones into the mud and pulling intact ones from the crate beside it, lining them up in a row before he returns to you.

Pulling the gun from his holster, John hands it to you. “Take it,” He instructs gently with an easy smile, teeth gleaming at you past the pick between his teeth. No doubt trying to ease the nerves he sees in your eyes.

“You’re gonna point it over there, ya?” He tells you, pointing to the short tower of boxes and bottles atop as you glance that way. You figured as much, but you nod just the same.

“Good,” John tells you, spitting out the stick in his teeth as he comes to stand to your side, drawing your arm up, and pointing the gun directly out in front of you. You feel your back bump into his chest as he moves behind you a little, reaching for your other hand, drawing it up to wrap around the revolver as well.

“Right, now cock it with your thumb.” John says, his warm breath fanning the hair on the side of your face and tickling your ear as you resist the urge to laugh. He releases your arms and you feel one of his hands settle gently at your waist. You glance down at his touch and John’s eyes follow the turn of your head a moment after.

“Shit - Sorry love, force of habit.” He tries to explain as he lets you go, but just as quickly your reaching for his hand and pulling it back with your permission.

“No, I don’t mind, really.” You tell him encouragingly, as if having him there is somehow comforting and reassuring as he lingers behind your shoulder, following your eyeline. You pull the hammer back until you hear it click.

“Right,” John answers, clearing his throat nervously, his fingers twitching slightly against you.

“Now line up your shot as best you can. Try to go with your stronger eye, whichever you see better with…” You feel John appraising, feel his eyes sweep over your stance, your arms, and back out to the bottles before he speaks again.

“When you’re ready, take a deep breath and pull the trigger before you release it.”

You follow John’s steps, line up your sight, mark your target bigger rather than smaller, take a deep breath… Your heart racing a little faster as you slowly pull the trigger and a loud bang erupts. Growing up in Small Heath, you’ve heard gun fire nearly as many times as you’ve heard the whistles blow at the factories, but something about the sound coming from you, makes you jump a little as the gun jerks in your hand. You feel John instinctively squeeze at your waist as you startle, grounding you.

“That’s good,” He praises you, but as you look over, all the bottles are still standing. You glance back over your shoulder at him with a disappointed frown.

“No need for the long face.” John says, pinching at your chin playfully. 

“It was a good first try. You got part of the box. Give it another go.” He encourages, and you do, exactly as he showed you… And you miss again. And again. Slowly getting closer, but still not a direct hit. You’re so discouraged by the time you finally hit one of those damn bottles you almost can’t believe it. Not sure if you should squeal or check to make sure John didn’t do it behind your back to stop your suffering.

But he clearly didn’t as he encourages you to go again, make sure you really got it. And when you break two more bottles in a row you’re beyond elated. Excitement and disbelief racing through your heart that was so discouraged a few moments ago. 

Putting down the gun, you spin around to John and find a smile waiting wide on his face for you as if he’s proud of you too. That smile of approval means everything to you as you crash against him eager for his praise. Wrapping your arms around his neck in gratitude and celebration, you place a chaste kiss against his lips before hugging him tightly. You realize you may have caught John off guard with your overwhelming display of gratitude as he stands frozen and unreceptive for a moment before his arms wrap around you for a hug in a return.

You pull back a moment later, but as your eyes meet, you realize John’s not smiling as he was before. His gaze sweeps over you in a way you’ve never seen him do before. In a way you’re not sure how to interpret, but it leaves your own smile falling fast with the sight of it as you stare back at him in confusion, not sure what your sensing from him. 

“John?” You ask open endedly.

The sound of your voice seems to snap him out of it. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone as John’s face falls from yours, his hand running up the back of his shorn blonde hair as an easy laugh spills free from his lips. He slowly shakes his head to himself as if lost in his own thoughts, before he glances back up at you and it’s the John you know and adore. He pats your cheek playfully, drawing a smile from you too and the moment feels right again. 

The sound of slow clapping hands calls both your attention as you glance over to find Tommy standing there, giving your success a round of applause. Watching you silently, his icy unreadable gaze dancing between the two of you, surveying the scene before him.

“How’d she do, John?”  Tommy asks, his eyes never leaving you as you let yourself get lost in the beauty of them for a moment.

Moving around you, John retrieves the gun as you listen to him loudly clear his throat. He pulls another pick form his pocket and pinches it between his teeth before he speaks.

“This one’s fuckin trouble, Tommy.” He comments.

“Am not,” You disagree, watching the exchange between the brothers as John places the gun back into his holster.

“Don’ I know it, brother. But that might just prove useful yet, aye Vera?” Tommy agrees, pulling at the cigarette dangling from his lip as he sends you a crooked grin, your gaze returning to the hold of his. John’s the easiest going among them and Tommy needed to see if Vera could rattle him too. He needed to know it wasn’t just him, you could do it to someone else too. A trick he’s starting to think you’re not entirely aware of, but could prove to be quite useful if channeled properly.

“Arthur’s got his fuckin hands full…” John remarks, glancing back at his brother, but Tommy’s eyes haven’t left you.

“Come ‘ere,” Tommy beckons you on a low husky breath, sending a shiver down your spine. Still working to keep his hooks in you. Not past Arthur, he’d never betray his older brother, just enough to ensure he has a way with you, the way you do with him, though he’d never admit the latter. The power of his gaze reels you in every step of the way. Tugging at some undefinable place deep in your belly.

“Ya have fun learnin’ to shoot?” He asks, almost as if talking to a child and perhaps you should protest, but you don’t, because you can test him too.

You find yourself smiling back at him, offering him a cheeky little grin you struggle to resist in his presence as you nod. “Maybe I’ll teach you teach a thing or two.”

Tommy chuckles lowly, and it’s the most lighthearted sound you’ve heard him make in a long time before he turns his attention to John.

“Come on, let’s head back to the house before it gets dark.” He says, with a slight tilt of his head as he turns to leave, ignoring your play on words. Understanding even better than you do how dangerous it is. You follow their muddy foot prints through Charlie’s yard as John looks over at Tommy and nods back at you.

“Aye, Arthur know about this?”

* * *

 

The new copper from Belfast doesn’t waste any time stirring things up, making his presence known, and making it clear he’s out for blood. John says he’s got a fuckin hard-on for Small Heath the way he tore through the place while the boys were away at the fair. You snicker at John boy’s humor even though you know you shouldn’t. No one else does, but he flashes you a lighthearted smirk, pleased at least you got it. The boys barely have a chance to catch their breath and chug a print after the long ride before Polly sends them out to the streets to show everyone who still runs this town.

That copper may be showing his reach of power, but Polly isn’t about to be undermined in her own backyard. Neither is any other Shelby for that matter. As Arthur and John, and the rest of the crew head for the streets, Tommy stays behind, someone has to take the horse he just won in a coin toss over to Charlie’s yard to be stabled. That’s the excuse anyway. A feeble one at best. One you’re not sure Arthur buys wholly, but he doesn’t protest either.

You can see it in the silent exchange between Polly and Tommy, there’s more to be discussed here.  You linger behind, leaning against the chopping block in the kitchen, trying to become a wallflower, but Polly isn’t mistaken. There’s nothing she doesn’t miss. Before you can learn anything of value, your hopes are dashed as Polly asks for a moment alone with Thomas. 

You hold her gaze, feet unmoving as you fumble. You’re trying to think up an excuse to stay. You don’t want to be shut out of the business anymore, and to your surprise, it’s Tommy who comes to your rescue, beating you to the punch.

“She already knows.” He informs Polly.

The look in Polly’s eyes as they fly to Tommy is guarded, but surprised. She’s holding it together. Her cards close to the vest. No one does it better, but you’ve known her long enough to see she’s alarmed by this turn of events. Most women were traditionally kept in the dark about the most sordid of details. That factor excluded, Polly’s also very protective of you. 

She knows what you’ve been through, the pain and the loss, and she cared for your mother deeply. Growing up, she was like an aunt to you, and then a mother after yours passed. In Polly’s mind, there’d would be no reason for you to know about the guns unless Thomas was getting you involved in something she didn’t approve of.

Reluctant as Polly is, she gets to it as if sensing you won’t be leaving anytime soon. Sharing what she’s learned, which was usually more than most. Talk of this new copper in town, revolution, and the guns - everyone wishes you knew nothing about. You stand next to the back wall. You don’t make a sound. Trying not to give a reason to be dismissed. You just listen and learn. It’s one of your better skills.

They chatter and banter, two of the strongest, bravest people you know. You look up to them, idolize them, and you think that if you listen and watch long enough maybe an ounce will rub off on you too.

Polly tells Tommy what he wants to here… That this new copper knows he’s the boss and wants to meet him, but when she asks if he will, Tommy answers no with a smooth subtle ease, shaking his head slowly. Like he holds all the power in the world in the palm of his hand as he pulls away at his cigarette utterly untouched from the blow they received today.

“An’ why not?” Polly inquires, with an edge of impatience you identify right away. Not seeing the logic behind his motives, but you do.

“You don’t parlay when you’re on the backfoot.” You hear the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. Tommy’s voice echoing in your head word for word from one of your many improvised lessons while lying in his bed late at night or while practicing your aim at Charlie’s yard.

Polly’s face turns to you in a flash as if suddenly remembering you’re even there, but it’s the approving smirk that curls at the corner of Tommy’s mouth that catches your eye. It’s so rare to see these days, it’s like a beacon in the dark, your eyes can’t help, but be drawn to it. The sight of it makes your heart race a little faster, and like any true addiction, as soon as it’s gone you want to see it again.

You’re learning, Tommy thinks, you’re catching on. But Polly doesn’t look nearly as amused.

“An’ who I am speaking with now, you or Tommy?” She asks crossly. 

The stern look on her face the same one she would wear when she’d scold you as a child, as if she can already see your words are not your own. Her eyes flash between the two of you, undoubtedly noticing the smirk edging on Tommy’s face before it disappears. Her gaze ultimately settling on you, looking you straight in the eye as if she doesn’t know who you are at all. And for a woman who’s the closest thing to a mother that you have left, it stings.

“She’s right Pol,” Tommy speaks up, clearing the air, drawing the heat back onto him and away from you as you slink back into the shadows.

“We’ll strike a blow back first.” Tommy announces his plan as if it’s settled, as he stubs his cigarette out and begins to move for the door. 

You take that as your cue this little meeting is over and escape as quickly as you can, pushing open the double doors that lead back into the betting shop. There’s things you want in this life, things you’re not sure Pol will understand, but her approval still matter to you. She practically raised you in so many ways, saved you in your darkest hour, that can never be forgotten.

As Tommy moves to follow suit and tend to the horse, Polly cuts off his advance. Moving directly in front of him before he can take another step, her eyes stare boldly into his own.

“What the hell do you think you’re you doing?” She practically hisses at him.

“She wants to learn about the business, Pol. She’s curious.” Tommy answers with a shrug, his detached ease only serving to rile up everyone around him. As if nothing in the world can touch Thomas Shelby if he doesn’t allow it.

“She’s been through enough.” Polly admonishes, trying to press upon his better nature. The part of Tommy that’s known Vera since she was child. The part of him that knows she’s suffered enough, even if he doesn’t know everything.

Tommy glances down at her, unpersuaded and unaffected. “You’re the one who’s always sayin’ she’s family. Well this is the family business, aye?”

“Yes, an’ she’s your brother’s wife, Thomas. You’d be wise to remember that.” Polly warns, her tone low and unamused.

Her words pierce through Tommy’s coat of arms. Polly always knows how to reach him, she has since he was just a mischievous boy, even when no one else can. And the guilt her words bring only infuriates him more. It’s easier for Tommy to turn his guilt and shame into anger than to face any real emotion head on. The war taught him well. 

Because it’s as if Pol’s onto him, as if she already knows the illicit thoughts he has about Vera when he’s alone in his room late at night and the smoke from his pipe has already flooded his veins. Thoughts that haunt and eat at him, because she’s Arthur’s, his brother’s wife. As if Polly can see the urges he battles to resist.

Tommy’s gaze drifts forward with the pull of his mind, finding you seated across the near empty betting shop, helping Scudboat count the coins.  Your eyes look up as if you feel him too, smiling softly at him as they meet, unsure what the look in his eyes means. It reminds Tommy of the smiles from his dreams, where you sneak into his room, move over him the way you did the night before, only this time you don’t move off and it doesn’t end there. 

Heart pounding a little harder, Tommy swears Polly sees right through him, to the darkest, most selfish trenches of his mind.  The walls move in closer and Tommy knows he has to get out of there. He reminds himself he has the horse to stable and he wastes no time ripping his gaze from yours, leaving Polly at his side and storms out the front door.

Storming out into the crowded noisy street of Small Heath, Tommy finds his mind drifting to the day he came back home from the war and his thoughts fill with images of you. When he left, you were just a young thing, more child than woman. What Arthur had done, taking your hand, had been a matter of necessity. 

You had written to him throughout the war, you wrote to them all from what Tommy heard. A scattering of things – poems, the weather, news of the family, and your thoughts on the war, but in his mind, you were still the young girl he briefly said goodbye to at the train station before the war.

But Tommy will never forget the day he came home. Stepping off that train with his brothers on a cold winter day, spotting Polly, Ada, and Finn clustered around John’s herd of little ones in the crowded sea of people, frantic to see their loved ones. Before noticing the young woman standing at Polly’s side, holding Finn’s hand and John’s youngest in the other. 

He hadn’t even recognized you at first as the steam from the train and the cold winter wind whipped around your hair and skirt like you were something ethereal in a sea of heartache and desperation that played out around you on the platform. You had hugged them all individually – meaningfully. John snickering and jabbing at the dumbfounded look on Arthur’s face as he got a good look at the woman his wife had become.

When it was finally his turn, Tommy found he couldn’t breathe as you came close, smiling up at him as if you were everything untainted left in this God forsaken world. No reservations, no caution as you held his gaze as if you could see he was broken, but still weren’t afraid. You welcomed him home in earnest, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you had the others. 

When Tommy thinks of it now, he can still remember the feel of your arms around his neck, the warmth of your body pressed against his uniform. The sweet smell of you engulfed his senses as his arms dangled at his sides before they slowly found their way around you, embracing you like a lifeline when lost out at sea.

And in that moment, as Tommy let you hold him close and he breathed you in, his heart began to race. The first real sensation his numb soul had felt since descending into the hell of those tunnels. So foreign to him, he’d nearly forgot how it felt and he remembered thinking, maybe if he just melted into you, you’d resurrect him yet. 

But as quickly as the thought hit Tommy, he then remembered you were Arthur’s wife and he quickly let you go… fighting a war with himself over you and what exactly it was he feels about you ever since.

* * *

“Is that how you fall asleep these days?”

Tommy’s eyes shoot up, heart pounding as he’s ripped out of his reverie by an unexpected voice.

“Vera,” He growls, jaw tight as he spots you standing in the crack of his door. His eyes sweeping quickly over your tousled hair, the strap of your slip hanging dangerously at the edge of your shoulder – threatening to fall, skimming down to the fabric that sways just above yours knees.

Tommy swallows hard, throat bobbing. “You must learn to knock.”

You send him a tired crooked grin and slip inside his room closing the door quietly behind you. 

“Everyone’s asleep. Thought you wouldn’ want me to wake them.” You shrug, unfazed by his cold welcome.

Taking a seat beside him on the edge of the bed, Tommy’s gaze follows you like two sapphire orbs, his face an unreadable stone mask.

“Knock, knock.” You say quietly, playfully tapping your fist against his bicep like he asked. Offering Tommy a truce as a mischievous little grin winds up the corners of your mouth, trying to break through the steel of his face.

Tommy stares back at you unamused, like a guarded fortress no one can enter without his permission. You linger until you take what feels like a cue you aren’t going to win him over tonight and rise from his bed once again, moving to leave. But you don’t get far, only a step or two before you feel his hand reach for yours as it dangles at your side, halting your retreat.

You glance down at your hand with the feel of his rough callused palm intertwining with your own. His touch subtly electric. Your gaze drifts back at Tommy over your shoulder as you bite at your bottom lip, resisting the urge to smile in your triumph, but the sight of it still sends Tommy’s heart racing.

He doesn’t say a word as he draws you back to his bed, your eyes locked in a dangerous undefinable flame that makes your belly flip and clench in the same breath. He releases your hand as you take a seat beside him on the edge. Returning to his task, he retrieves the tar from the discrete tin he keeps it hidden in.

“It helps you sleep?” You ask as you watch him work. Diligently, delicately preparing his pipe as he nods absently at your question, but never looks your way.

“The nightmares too?” You continue as you watch each move he makes with curiosity, the dance of his fingertips you just felt on your palm a moment ago, now roll a dark dough between them.

“Sometimes,” Tommy answers, and you get the feeling you’re seeing a side of him he doesn’t reveal to most. The weakness in him that needs abating, the dragon inside that must be lulled if he is to find any rest.

“Would it help with mine?” You ask with curiosity. You see so much of yourself in Tommy. A similar kind of pain. If it can calm his demons than perhaps…

Tommy turns to you swiftly, the power of his determined blue eyes swallowing you up as they take ahold.

“You’re never to touch this, Vera. Not with anyone. Ever. Understood?” Tommy’s voice is firm, unwavering in its delivery. It has to be. In Tommy’s mind he can already imagine what could happen if he smoked with you, alone in his room, his mind hazy and unchained, blissful and warm inside, and completely undisturbed by anyone else in the house… No, that can never happen, Tommy tells himself as his blood pumps a little harder with even the thought of it.

The heat of his eyes, the determination of his gaze, you nod in agreement without thinking.

“You’ll fall asleep after then?” You ask as he turns back to his bedside table.

“That’s the plan.” Tommy answers distantly, distracted once again as he brings the tar over the flame to burn just the outer edge.

“Will ya help me fall asleep too?” You press on, watching as he delicately places the tar to his pipe.

“Yeah,” He nods absently, distracted until your reach for his undershirt and then you’ve earned his undivided attention. Grabbing at the seams as your tug his undershirt up his body.

“Arms up,” You instruct the same way you do with John’s kids when you watch them.

Tommy obeys, but protests the entire way.

“Vera-“ He starts by never finishes until you’ve got it over his head. “Fuckin hell-“

He snatches at your wrists as soon as he’s shirtless, his grip unmoving as he looks dead into your eyes, diving into your soul.

“Your Arthur’s wife.” He tells you as if you don’t already know, but knowing men as you do, you know he’s saying it as much for himself as for you.

“I know,” You answer meekly, twisting the shirt in your hands as your face drops. Your heart heavy with everything you wish you could be. Everything you wish you could give Arthur. Everything he deserves. Before you glance back up at Tommy.

“No one knows that better than me.” You assure him. 

Staring into your eyes, Tommy feels like he understands what you and Arthur share even less than he did before as he lets your wrists go. You look away to break the unease that edges between you, slipping the shirt over your head and nightdress, letting it fall down your body. You draw his shirt up to your nose, breathing the distinct smell of Tommy deep into your lungs, Irish whiskey and burned tobacco. You let the shirt fall from your nose and hands as you find Tommy watching you, his gaze heavy in a way you can’t define.

“The smell of it makes me feel safe. Same with Arthur’s.” You tell him quietly. Trying to explain the reasoning behind your madness.

“Do you know what you’re doing or does the effect it has men escape you?” Tommy says, finally questioning your intent, his tone not harsh or accusing. No, his question is far more inquisitive and dangerous.

You hold his gaze and contemplate the question. Choosing your answer wisely. You know you’re not like the other wives you see. You know you do things that others would frown upon a proper young woman engaging in, but you don’t know how to stop that. Sometimes it just comes out and you don’t realize you’re doing it until it’s done.

“I’m not a fool Tommy, but it’s not intentional. It just sort of… happens.”

“That’s what I thought…” Tommy nods. 

“If you could learn to control it, to use it, it could make you a force to contend with, Vera. Men wouldn’t stand a chance.” Tommy says, his gaze capturing you in the relentless hold of his iridescent blues, in the calling of his gaze. You feel it deep in your belly, he’s showing you how you can be a weapon. A weapon not even he’s immune to. This is the only time Tommy scares you, when he makes the room inch hotter as you clench your thighs.

Tommy’s heart pounds as he quickly looks away from you. His lesson done for the night. His fuckin pants suddenly feeling tight as he reaches for his pipe. If you were anyone else sitting on the edge of his bed, draped in his shirt, looking at him the way you just had… Anyone but Arthur’s wife.

You scoot to the far end of the bed, opposite Tommy, creating distance, feeling unsure of yourself. Tommy broke it first, you knew he would, that’s why you trust him, but still you need a little space as you find your safe spot on the mattress and burrow into it, away from Tommy.

Tommy tries to forget you’re at his back as he returns to his pipe. Blowing out a long heated breath to cool down, you are far too dangerous to get close to in any way. He knows he should just kick you out of his bed and send you back to Arthur, but he can’t. As dangerous and incendiary as you are, you’re the only thing that’s made him feel anything since he came home from the war. He craves that feeling as surely as he does the tar he’s just placed upon his pipe.

Tommy bring the pipe to the flame and breathes in deep. Letting the smoke fill his lungs with a gentle ease, a warm embrace. He takes a few more hits, slow and steady, letting you drift from his mind like everything else, until he feels as at peace as he can since the war. 

Placing his pipe to rest against the dresser, he lays his back down against the mattress in his haze. You reach for him as if the last few moments never happened, snuggling to his side, your arm across his bare chest as your face settles against his shoulder and the crook of his neck. Tommy reaches for you in a daze, running his hand against the side of your face, his fingertips slipping into the edges of your hair.

You ask him what he dreams about and in the high of magic smoke, he tells you quietly about shovels and tunnels, mud and enemies at every corner, just beyond a thin wall of earth waiting to attack. As his mind slips between here and somewhere else, he finds he isn’t afraid to tell you. He thinks you might even understand.

“What do you dream about?” Tommy asks you absently as his hand runs up your arm and slips back into your hair.

You snuggle closer to him with his question. You aren’t high like he is. The truth is still very real and tight within your chest.

“Churches,” You whisper, so close your lips practically brush his ear.

“Sounds lovely,” Tommy huffs quietly, and it does as his hand slips down your scalp, moving along the slop of your neck. You feel so good this close to him, it almost scares Tommy. Almost as good as that day on the platform all over again. If he had common sense he’d push you away, but he’s too lost in the haze of delirium to do anything he knows he’ll regret.

“You’d think so.” You admit quietly, letting the warmth and feel of Tommy sooth you as your heart tightens. It still lives inside you, like a parasite you can’t dig out. But beside Tommy, as he drifts away in the only relief he can find, you at least feel understood in your broken edges.

* * *

When you come down stairs early in the morning to help with breakfast you find Polly tending to Arthur’s busted and bloody hands. Watching them seated at the table, you stand frozen in the doorway as their eyes find you. Your heart clenches tight in your chest with the sight of Arthur’s blood as he meets your gaze. 

Moving for the kitchen, you waste no time to retrieve a rag and soak it in cold water before returning to give Polly a hand and tend to your husband. You press the wet rag to the cut dried on his eyebrow as Polly tends to the scrapes on his knuckles. Arthur hisses in pain, groaning lightly as you both work on him, cleaning out his cuts and battle wounds. The sound of his discomfort rattling through your like a mortar shell exploding as you bring your other hand to his face and gently stroke your thumb against it to comfort him.

You could ask what happened, where he’s been, but the answers always the same. Tommy and John call it the flanders blues, bouts of rage, bouts of sadness. When he hadn’t come home last night you naturally assumed it was just booze and whores again, but the explosions Arthur is capable of are always hiding just under the surface, though it’s never been a rage he’s directed at you. Remnants of the war you’ve been told, an answer that offers as much comfort as it does solutions. 

Once you and Pol have patched him up the best you can with meager supplies and medical knowledge, you insist on bringing him to bed and Pol couldn’t agree more. Dawn has already peaked on the horizon, the others will be awake soon, but Arthur needs rest. You’d venture a guess he hasn’t slept all night. You ask Pol to keep the others at bay the best she can as you take Arthur’s hand and leads him upstairs.

When you reach your bedroom, you make a point to lock the door, before turning your attention to Arthur fully. You help him disrobe. And while the action is unfamiliar to you, Arthur looks so vulnerable and beaten down, you can’t resist. Unbuttoning his shirt that reeks of spilled booze, you tug it from his arms. 

Reaching for his trousers, you take a deep breath and you remind yourself you’re his wife before you unfasten the buttons, while he kicks off his shoes. His trousers fall and Arthur steps lazily free of them as you strip the robe from your body, eyes on each other, but never meeting. You take his hand and lead him back into the bed you share. He notes the rising sun peeking through the windows as he settles in against the tick mattress. But you have an answer for that too, as you pull the blanket over your heads and settle in beside him.

“No one will find us here.” You whisper to him as if it’s some big secret you must keep from the rest of the world.

Arthur offers you a soft smile, the exhaustion on his face struggling to form it.

“You didn’t sleep here last night.” He finally speaks after a moment, pointing out an all too obvious truth. The bedding as cold to his skin as it is to your own. No warmth from a body that dwelled in it any time in the recent past, but you find there’s a slight edge that rises within you to his statement.

“Neither did you.” You answer back, regretting your defensiveness almost as quickly as you let it slip.

Arthur rolls onto his back, staring at the blanket pulled over him as he runs a battered hand over his tired face.

“Are ya sneakin around with Tommy, Vera?” Arthurs asks on a long sigh. His words nearly steal your breath as soon as you hear them and tears down all your defenses. He doesn’t even sound mad, which only hurts worse. You knew this question was coming. And staring at Arthur’s profile you find you can’t lie to yourself. You don’t know what you feel for Tommy, but you can’t deny you feel things. At first you thought you just saw yourself in him, a mirror, but when you’re alone with him lately, you feel it’s more complex than that. It’s not definitive, as shapeless as it is nameless, but you can feel it’s presence within you just the same. 

While your marriage remains unconsummated, you always knew if you offered Arthur wouldn’t turn you down. Which only makes his question that much more painful… To think his own brother has been dipping into the honey pot that belongs to him, but he can’t sample. Arthur isn’t wrong on either front, you can see it in the way Tommy looks at your sometimes… he has feelings of his own. But that’s why you feel safe with Tommy, he’d never act on them anymore than you would.

Arthur isn’t looking at you, so you reach for him, grasping the stubble of his cut chin as you turn his face to look at you.

“No, I’d never betray you in such a way, Arthur.” You promise. “An’ neither would Tommy.”

You run your hand gently up along the ridge of his face, thinly layered with dirt and time worn lines. Along his cheekbone, tall but not as sharp as Tommy’s, and into his long hair that’s matted with dried blood and rain drops that fell long ago.

“You’re my family, Arthur.” You tell him softly, just above a whisper. Your throat tightening with the words and the way they ring true in your heart. Without Arthur, without his sacrifice, you’d have nothing. Be lost in a world that didn’t care about little orphan girls, except what they can take from them.

“I’m sorry not a better wife. I’m sorry I’m not what you deserve, what you need.” You voice breaks as your words trail off, tears fill your eyes even as you try to hold them back. You feel so much guilt about Arthur. Guilty over everything you wish you could be for him, but can’t without sacrificing everything you want in this life. Lying here with him, just the two of you as the cold bedding gives away both your secrets and unspoken truths… You wish you could be everything he needs or disappear completely.

Arthur rolls back onto his side to face you, the old bed creaking under the weight as he reaches for your cheek to touch it softly.

“None of that now. I won’t have you speak of yourself like that.” Arthur tries to console you. His voice soft and gentle, so different from the man who comes alive within him when his fists get bloody. He’s always gentle with you. You move to him with his softness, resting your head upon his shoulder as he rolls on his back and wraps you in his arms.

You lay there silently for a moment, listening to the rhythm of his heart as you hold him close.

“After my father died and my mother didn’t know how we’d survive, there were days we’d lay in bed, just like this, hiding under the blankets. We’d dream of places we could go. Where things would be easier… better… Where’s your place Arthur? Where could we disappear to?” You share with him quietly. Inquiring where he would escape to if escaping where more than just fairytales told to get through the hardships of the day.

Arthur holds you close as you listen to the gentle melody of his long deep breathes and beat of his heart. An easy tune that lets your eyes drift close as you sense Arthur is pondering your question.

“The black patch, I suppose.” He finally answers after giving it some thought. 

“When we were kids our mum use to take us up there-“ He starts to tell you as you hang on his every word, but there’s no peace in this life and certainly not in this house as his words are silenced suddenly by the distinctive sound of shoes clipping down the hall. It’s as if you both knows it’s coming for your door. Come to steal away your thunder.

You glance up at Arthur and swear you see the same answer shining in his orbs you feel in your heart… Its Tommy come to fetch his soldier. There’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done.

But the tired look on Arthur’s face as he gazes down at you, knowing the night he’s already had, spurs a protectiveness inside you didn’t expect.

“Arthur,” Tommy’s distinct voice calls through the door. You know Arthur will go if Tommy tells him to and sure enough, with Tommy’s call Arthur sits up in bed with a long sigh. The sound of it leaves a fire burning inside you. Determined not to let that happen, you find yourself pushing Arthur back down on the bed, he lets you as your hands firmly press against his chest and you move atop him for added measure.

“He’s busy, Tommy.” You answer back instead, calling out to the door.

“Doin’ what?” Tommy protests with a lack of patience. You both jump with a start when the door handle starts to jiggle, the man has no sense of personal space, and you figure it’s too late to go back now. Your mind races with Tommy’s stubborn persistence. Thinking fast, you lean over Arthur to grab the brass bedframe, knocking it against the wall gently.

“Me,” You call back on the best desperate sigh you can muster on a whim.

As if you had fired a gun, Arthur practically shoots up in bed with your outburst before you can push him back down. His eyes wide in disbelief beneath you as you flash him a wicked smile and a chuckle rips from his lips before you clamp your hand down over his mouth to silence the sound.

“If he hears you laughing, he’ll know it’s a rouse.” You whisper, leaning down on Arthur, your hand still silencing him as you both sit in silence waiting for any noise outside the door.

“Arthur,” Tommy growls with a lack of patience, the door handle jiggling a few more times, but the lock holds.

“Go away, Tommy!” You call breathlessly. Doing your best impression of a woman lost in the throes of passion as desperate gasps pitch off your breath, knocking the bedframe against the wall a few more times for good measure.

“Fuck sake, nine o’clock, Arthur. Be down by nine. There’s business to be done.” Tommy calls back on an exasperated breath, slamming his hand against the door once more, before his shoes can be heard steadily moving against the floorboards a little faster with frustration.

You’re not sure he bought it. Not sure anyone would, but he left and that was your goal, to let Arthur get some rest. Only then does it occur to you the means it took to reach your success and the precarious perch you find yourself trying to achieve it from. 

Your eyes slowly, cautiously wander down to Arthur lying beneath you, your thighs spread across him, your slip riding high enough to reveal your creamy skin. The morning light steams in from the window, shining on Arthur’s gentle face as he stares up at you. Only then do you consider how your little show may have sounded to his ears. How it must have felt for Arthur listening to the lust filled cries of his beautiful wife, having never heard her make those sounds before.

There’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before as Arthur reaches up to gently cup your cheek. Making your heart pound a little harder, unsure of what’s about to happen.

“You’re an incredible woman, Vera. As beautiful inside as you are out.” Arthur tells you, his voice low and deep. The sound of it makes your breath shallow, and for the first time ever you think Arthur might actually kiss you… But he doesn’t, he speaks instead.

“You’re going to make some man very lucky one day. An’ if that’s Tommy… it’s a’right… As long as he makes ya happy, you have my blessing.” He continues as he smiles up at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Don’t say that,” You plead with him, your head shaking against his palm as your voice breaks right along with your heart. The bedding suddenly cold around once again as if your bodies hadn’t warmed them at all. Begging him to stop, because you can feel the impending doom building tight in your heart, like a bomb about to drop.

“I met a woman.” He confesses to you. The word rattling through your head and down to your heart as Arthur stokes gently at your cheek. Not a whore, not a barmaid… A woman.

* * *

Moving quickly down the stairs and into the betting shop, Tommy spots Polly as he readies to head out. 

“Pol, when Vera comes down tell her I’ll be back around half past noon. If she wants to go to Charlie’s today, she’s to be ready.” He says in passing, pulling on his jacket and snatching up his cap.

Leaving her tea at the table, Polly rises.  “Thomas, whatever it is you’re cooking up, I want you to leave her out of it.” She tells him, her approach much more soft in her attempt to convince him this time. 

Refusing to help Tommy corrupt the girl she loves like a daughter. She loves Tommy like a son. She loves all the Shelby children like they were her own. Raised them as such after their mother died and her drunken brother ran off like a philandering fool. But she’s not going to sit by while he tarnishes Vera in the name of his unquenchable ambition.

Stopping at the double doors that separate the betting shop from the rest of the house, Tommy meets Polly’s gaze, halted by the insinuation of her statement.

“She’s not a child anymore, Pol. She can make up her own mind and this is what she wants. Thought you believed in women’s rights and all…” Tommy corrects, an air of defensiveness on his breath, as if no one gets a rise out of Thomas Shelby, except perhaps Polly.

Feeling her patience wear thin in a way Tommy so often manages to incite since the war, Polly takes a step toward him. Her voice low for discretion but direct. “Has she told you why she married your brother? Why she ran away?”

“No one wants to stay in those homes.” Tommy shrugs, not taking the bait, but behind icy blue eyes the wheels start to slowly turn and no one knows how to get them spinning quite like Polly does. 

Tommy has had his suspicions for some time now about the origins of your behavior though he never much dwelled on them. Why Arthur had to marry you. Why you have a provocative, almost seductive nature though he still isn’t sure his brother has ever laid a land on you. Why you lost your faith and dream of churches. But Tommy is starting to see the pieces to fit together quite nicely once they’re aligned.

“You’re a far more clever man than that, Thomas. If you care about Vera at all you’ll leave her be. She’s been through enough. You’re only going to hurt her more.” Polly cautions, pressing upon the heart she hopes is still somewhere inside him. 

Before the war he had a big heart. Was capable of kindness, mercy, but barely home from the war and all she sees in his eyes these days is distance and a hunger for blood. She doesn’t tell him she knows Vera sneaks into his room more nights than could ever be explained as anything other than inappropriate. She just prayers he cares enough about you to make the right choice.

Tommy meets Pol’s gaze, holding it as if to press upon her the seriousness of this words. “I won’ hurt her, Pol. I know what she means to you.”

Polly purses her lips, that isn’t the answer she was pressing for. So she applies a little more pressure. “An’ what does she mean to you, Thomas?”

Staring back at his aunt, Tommy gets the sense once again that she sees right through him. That she knows Vera comes into his room though no one’s ever said it aloud. She knows he lets her stay, because he can’t get her out of his fuckin head no matter how hard he tries. That he desires things from her and to do things to her no man should ever desire of their brother’s wife. Things he would never say aloud. Things he would never act on, because he’s loyal to his family first and foremost. Because he loves Arthur.

“I’ll be back shortly after noon, do pass along the message, eh?” Tommy finally speaks, evading her question entirely as he fastens his signature cap onto his head and adjusts it low on his brow, before heading for the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case your scratching your head… Yes, Vera has Massive Boundary and Impulse control issues when it comes to her and men.


	4. There's a woman... | Part 4a

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is only Part A. So as some of you know this chapter got away from me and I had to cut it. But the two pieces belong together. So I’m posting Part A today and one week from today I will post Part B.
> 
> Warning: implied abuse history

You’re a mess of emotions the first time you meet Linda, nervous but also excited too. When Arthur told you he wanted you to meet her first, you felt special. Affirming that while what you and Arthur have may not be traditional, it’s still real. And the light Linda has brought to his eyes, giving him everything you couldn’t, it made you love her already. It felt like getting to meet a new member of the family. But all those silly little notations were just that - notions, and easily dashed once you found yourself seated across from Linda in her tiny flat. 

Only then did you realize you weren’t meeting your new family, you were meeting your replacement. A woman you got the sense was twice the one you are, because there’s still days you feel like a child. But you know how important she is to Arthur, so you try to make the best of it and make a good impression. Only the more you want to impress her, the more you worry you won’t say the right thing or act the right way. Your nerves only heightening when you remember Arthur said she’s a pious woman, because if there’s anything you’re not, it’s that.

Sitting across from her is intimidating. Her home is immaculate. Everything in its place, clean and tidy. With the good Lord’s book on the coffee table between you and a cross hanging center piece on the wall beside the King’s portrait. There’s a presence to Linda, a look in her eyes, in the way she looks at you. It’s full of the kind of quiet unspoken judgement that makes you feel like your eight all over again and about to be punished. But the way she gazes at Arthur is softer, sweeter, so you try and hold onto that as her eyes continue to scan between you and Arthur, as the two of you sit awkwardly on her couch.

“Arthur explained the unfortunate circumstance surrounding your marriage… Why it had to be done.” She explains over tea and biscuits, her tone neutral, but her eyes suspended, awaiting your confirmation. You can hear it, the words she doesn’t say. She wants to hear it from you, that it’s just an arrangement and an unconsummated one at that. You can feel her uncertainty from just a few feet away. But it’s her choice of words that unnerve you. The unfortunate circumstance… 

Your heart beginning to pound harder as you stare at her blankly for a moment, your mind racing. Has Arthur told her why you had to marry? The thought alone leaves the sting of betrayal shooting through your heart as you suddenly turn to Arthur beside you in disbelief. How he could tell her something he swore to never reveal. A secret that isn’t his to share.

“Yes,” Arthur pipes up quickly as he meets your eyes and reads the question forming in your gaze.

“I hope you don’ mind, I told her about your mum’s passing an’ how you were going to be sent to one of those children homes. It was the only way to keep ya.” Arthur clarifies, taking your hand from where it rests on the couch to give it a squeeze. The look in his eyes reassuring you, he’d never betray you that way. Not even with Linda.

You nod as relief washes over you he hasn’t spilt your darkest secret to a woman you even didn’t know. Relieved that even though he might be smitten, he hasn’t betrayed you. That he’s still the man you know and love. You hold Arthur’s gaze and smile at him warmly before turning back to Linda.

“Arthur’s a good man. He saved me.” You tell her, squeezing his hand in return. Arthur may not be the most formidable, the most cunning Shelby, but he makes you feel the safest. He made you feel safe when nothing in this world felt safe. Stood by you long after anyone else would have left. And loved you even when you felt unlovable. He feels like home. Even now. Even after Linda. And judging by her next comment she must sense it too.

“You’re more beautiful than Arthur described.” Linda speaks up and you feel Arthur grow uneasy by her comment as he quickly pulls his hand from yours.

You don’t know what to say to that. Unsure if it’s a compliment or a test. You don’t know what the proper line of response is for a statement such as this. Especially from a woman you’re quite certain is more beautiful than you could ever be. But you think she needs to hear why you and Arthur never became.

“Tommy thinks so too. He’s quite taken with our Vera.” Arthur pipes up abruptly, awkwardly as he reaches over to take Linda’s hand. You watch the exchange and suddenly feel out of place. Arthur’s choice of words only further confusing you as your gaze shoots back to him.

“You an’ Tommy are quite close then?” Linda asks, probing, but you never look her way. Your eyes locked on Arthur as he slowly turns back to you. You can see in his gaze, he needs you to ease Linda’s fears and for him, you’d do almost anything.

Your gaze drops to your wringing hands as they sit uneasy in your lap, nodding slowly.

“Yes, we’re close.” You say. For Arthur, you do it for Arthur.

“He likes it when I climb in his bed at night.” You answer numbly, absently mindedly, losing grip on your attempts to be pleasing as your words slip out low like a whisper, your heart growing heavy in your chest.

“I beg your pardon?” Linda glances over at Arthur, suddenly confused by the boldness of your statement.

Arthur turns to you, gripping your hand tightly, stirring you from your thoughts. You gaze rises to meet his and instantly you can see the concern growing heavy in his eyes.

“Our Vera has nightmares from time to time. An’ sometimes they make her wander.” He tries his best to explain what anyone else would find utterly inexcusable, without giving away your secrets, because he can see in your eyes this is already taxing you.

Your belly tightens as your heart grows heavy. It feels like losing your mum and Da all over again. Looking at Arthur you can practically feel him slipping away. And you want to be happy for him, but in this moment all you can feel is a deep unbidding sense of loss.

“You have to excuse me, I’m suddenly not feeling well.” You abruptly say. Pulling from Arthur’s eyes as you rise from the couch and force a smile at Linda.

“It was lovely meeting you, but I really must be going.” You say politely with what’s left of your manners, trying to appear cordial for Arthurs sake before you move quickly for the door with unease.

As soon as your outside, you fill your lungs with the smoggy factory air, trying to catch your breath. But then you feel Arthur hot on your heels and you start to move. You don’t know why you evade him, but you feel you must, storming quickly down the lane. You hear him hollering your name at your back as you go.

“Tommy’s waiting for me. I have to go. Enjoy your time with Linda.” You yell, hiding the tears that burn and fill at the edges of your eyes. Never turning back, never slowing your pace, disappearing as quickly as you can down the lane, leaving Arthur to his happiness before he can leave you behind…

 

 

Having finally gotten the children down to bed, having wrangled and fought, bribed and begged until all of them finally fell asleep, you collapse against the old sticky couch beside John. Your head lulling back against the top edge as you sigh heavily in relief. 

Katie was the hardest. She’s always the hardest. Middle child, youngest girl, and at six years old, she’s old enough to remember Martha, but still too young to understand why she died. Her crying spelling and bed wetting often make her the most challenging of the bunch at times, but having not been much older than she is when you Da died, you sympathize with her pain. Snuggling her close after the others have gone to bed. Singing and rocking to her slowly until she settles in and drifts off.

You don’t know how John does it on his own. John doesn’t either. So you try to help out as best you can; you, Polly, and Ada. The Shelby women doing fucking women’s work.

John sparks a cigarette beside you, taking a pull from it before passing it to you like a gift of gratitude for helping him with the kids. You know he’s grateful and you’re happy to help. John’s good to you and it’s never a hardship to return the favor. They run him ragged. He can’t keep a handle on them. He had too many, too young, and your heart pains for him, none of them have been the same since Martha died.

“Thank you, handsome.” You say, flashing him a wide sparkling grin as you draw the cigarette up to your lips before taking a long pull, nursing the exhaustion hitting you hard and fast after the fight you were just put through.

John’s eyes glance your way, and you can’t help but notice how beautiful his eyes are. All blue and open, but not closed off to the world like Tommy’s.

“You flirt with all the boys like that, ey?” John teases you, opening his arm to you from his spot on the old tattered couch, more covered in stains than upholstery.

Your gaze turns his way too, your eyes filling with a playfulness only John can seem to spark inside you. Arthur too on an occasion, but John with just the snap of his fingers. You bite at your bottom lip, and scoot into his side, feeling his arm settle across your shoulders. From this close he smells like ale and those cigars he likes to puff on. His distinctive scent reminds you of the way whiskey tastes, like men, as you lean in a little closer into him, feeling your thighs brush.

“Only the ones I like.” You say, nudging his ribs with your elbow in jest.

Your gaze drifts out across his sitting room cluttered with plates and cups, shoes and shirts, the kind of mess only a small herd of motherless children could make. But you see none of it really. Your mind is slowly drifting miles away as the weight of your day settles in around you.

“Arthur’s moved on.” You finally say aloud, your words low like a whispered secret and heavy on your heart. Making it real in a way only thinking on it never did.

John pinches at your side, making you squirm a little against him. “Nah, he adores you.” He reassures as if you’re just an overly concerned wife, whipping up tales outta nothing.

You turn to look at him, pulling back the cigarette from your lip. “Can you keep a secret John,” You ask, waiting for his head to slowly nod before you continue.

“He met someone, Arthur I mean. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. But that’s the end of it. I won’ be a Shelby anymore.” You confess on a heavy breath and a shrug, because lately it feels like a storm is coming at you and you’re powerless to stop it, but you trust John, he’s your friend. 

But even knowing you’re not alone with this secret anymore, you still feel like a drink could help to swallow it down as you lean forward and grab the open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table before taking a long swig. You let the warm liquor burn down your throat before you place it back down, drowning your sorrows.

“You could marry me, love.” John suggests easily enough with a shrug of his own. Wide grin spreading across his face as you glance back at him. His soft blue eyes all lit up with that trademark John Shelby charm.

“Me, you, and the kids, ey?” You clarify, leaning back against the couch and the crook of John’s arm as you mull over the ridiculous notion. You - the girl who never wants kids raising a house full of them.

“Yeah, An’ I’ll load you up with a few more.” He laughs.

“Quite the gentleman… Means you’d have to kiss me though.” You remind him, raising your eyebrow in challenge. Daring him to worm his way out of this one.

John gazes at you for a long minute before he lets his thumb and forefinger pinch at your chin.

“Already have…” He reminds you. “An’ I’ve had worse.”

That look in his eyes, so fuckin cheeky and full of himself. You could smack it right off him, but instead it sends a spill of laughter falling from your lips, echoed quickly by his own. Your voices fill the room with life and slowly lightens the heaviness of your words as it dies down.

You glance over at him beside you, offering him a small smile of thanks for making you laugh, when you feel his hand suddenly find your face again. And you wonder if the heaviness on your heart is breaking through to your eyes.

“Listen ‘ere, you’ll always be a Shelby, ey. You’re just like us.” John tells you like it’s a promise as his thumb gently strokes at your cheek with care.

His words melt and reassure the most aching parts of your soul and you didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that until he said it. The comfort it brings draws you to him, as you lean in and brush the tip of your nose against him with thanks. There’s a look in John’s eyes as you slowly pull back, his brow arched in question, but it’s the connection you feel to him and the tug in your belly that has you leaning in, parting your lips to pull at his bottom one.

It could have lasted a second, a minute, you’re not sure as your fingers slide along his jaw. You only notice his lips feel soft and warm before John’s pushing you back.

“Ah, fuck off.” He laughs at you teasingly, the sound of it making a smile break out wide across your face.

“Thanks John.” You tell him, before rising from the couch to leave, sending him one more smile of gratitude.

“You’re dangerous Vera.” John calls at your back as you move for the door.

“And you love it,” You tease him, glancing over your shoulder one last time before you slip out the open door.

 

 

It felt like times past. Before Arthur found a woman. Before Tommy became your partner in crime. Just three brothers sharing a bottle of whiskey over a card game in the snug at the Garrison. John and Arthur laughing on about some old times, cracking jokes at one another expense like brothers do as Tommy watches on, pulling away at yet another cigarette, trying to hide the smirk edging at his mouth. 

You sit beside him on the bench seat, but not close. Fixed on the beauty of Arthur’s face when he laughs. The way his eyes crinkle and light up. The sound of his laugh as it bellows loudly, before he drowns it with another drink. You feel a part of it. A part of them. Like you belong. Like a Shelby. You missed the simplicity of this. The simple joy of it. When you were just Arthur’s tag along, his Little Lady. Before everything got complicated.

Tommy offers you a cigarette as the boys carry and you gladly except. Leaning toward him as he sparks a match and covers the flame, bringing it to you. You smile watching as Arthur retells another story. His voice loud and boisterous, pointing his finger as he calls each brother out of their folly.

Hanging on his every word, it’s only the feel of a hand on your leg beneath the table that stirs your attention. Turning to Tommy beside you on the wooden bench, you see the bottle raised in his hand.

“Another?” He asks, cigarette hanging from his lip.

You smile at him and nod, sliding your near empty glass across the table. Tommy tops it off with the beautiful amber colored liquor that leaves your insides feeling warm, but as you draw the full glass back, you feel his hand pull away from your leg, and you find yourself reaching for him almost immediately.

Running your fingertips along the back of his hand, you feel Tommy’s gaze fall back on you. You’ve never see the ocean, not in person anyway, but you imagine it’s as blue and expansive as the depths of Tommy’s eyes when he stares at you. He doesn’t say a word as you touch him, but you feel him turn his hand over beneath yours, opening his palm to you. 

You run your fingers along the length of his palm, feeling his thick callused skin as Tommy turns back to his brother, pulling away at his cigarette. You take a drag of your own, as you trace your fingertips along the lines of his hand, feeling his thumb faintly caress along the seam of yours in return. It’s a gentle whisper of a touch that sends your insides buzzing. You’d swear Tommy doesn’t feel you at all. Not a glimmer of indication on his face as he watches his brothers carry on from across the table. But then he steals another glance out of the corner of his steely gaze as if he wants you to know… He feels you.

You feel yourself growing flush under his piercing gaze, getting lost in the side glances you can steal, until the sound of a gunshot rips you from your reverie. You jump with a start at the sound of it and instantly feel Tommy grip your hand tightly, his eyes suddenly fully on you.

“It’s a’rigtht.” He reassures, before letting go of your hand as his gaze turns to his brothers. You watch the three of them share a knowing glance as a voice carries from the next room over, slipping past the thin walls that make up this snug as someone demands to see a Shelby.

All three brothers rise from the table in unison and move for the door. Your heart keeps racing as you follow them, getting in line behind Arthur before he turns back to you.

“You stay in ‘ere, now.” He instructs, his words without question as he runs his thumb across your cheek sweetly.

You stand in the doorway of the snug as they file out – Tommy, Arthur, and John. Waiting like you were told as Tommy orders everyone else out of the pub. An order no one seems to need to hear twice as they all scurry and flee in every direction. You hear someone whisper the name Kimber and instantly you understand why everyone is dashing in fear. You don’t know much about Mr. Kimber, but you know enough to know the power he wields and how badly Tommy wants to take it. 

But curiosity gets the best of you on more than one occasion, this being no exception. You tell yourself it’s because you’re a part of this family and you want to be a part of the business too, but perhaps it’s just your inquisitive nature. Either way, you find yourself creeping to the door, spying as the brother’s take a seat at the front table. Seated across from a man you assume must be Kimber. A man of influence and power. You only need to see the respect Tommy’s showing him to know that. And as Harry brings over a bottle and glasses, you find yourself moving to give him a hand.

The startled look that washes over Tommy’s face as you appear only lasts a second before it’s covered up with the cool indifference he lives by these days.

“You, go home.” Tommy orders when you’ve barely reached the table. An air of indifference on his breath, the command simple, but affirmative.

“Tommy, I can-“ You barely start before you’re abruptly cut off.

“Vera!” Arthur hollers at you from the table. Sending your startled eyes shooting to him as your heart jumps in your chest. He’s never hollered at you. Not once. Not even the time you accidentally stained his favorite suit. Or nearly burnt the house down trying to make dinner. Never, and the sound of it instantly garners your attention.

He looks you dead in the eye, not an ounce of question in his stern gaze.

“Go home.” He tells you unequivocally.

You’ve never been given orders like that from Arthur before, but you recognize that’s what they are instantly. And the longer you look in his eyes the more you can see it’s only out of concern. Having you here scares him. Not with men like Kimber around. So you turn to go. Not wanting to upset him further.

“I never approved of women drinkin’ in pubs, distastefully really, but when they look like that…” You hear Kimber say at your back. His words send you glancing over your shoulder for one last look. His eyes are waiting, watching your every move. And suddenly you remember what Tommy said – If you could control it, men wouldn’t stand a chance. Meeting his gaze fearlessly, you let a small smile slowly curl across your mouth and spark in your eyes, as if he were the most handsome man you’d ever seen and you simple couldn’t resist. The kind of smile you’ve seen catch a man’s eye more than once. And Kimber isn’t immune either it would appear as you watch him smirk back at you before Arthur’s voice fills the room.

“That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.” You hear him growl, disgusted by the insinuation of Kimber’s comment. Arthur’s words send jolt you back to the moment and send your face quickly turning away before anyone notices as you sneak out toward the back.

“An how did some little didicoy like you land a woman that looks like that?” Kimber mocks.

“You said you wanted men called Shelby. Well ya got three of ‘em.” Tommy interjects, redirecting the conversation before the whole situation erupts and men start drawing arms the way he knows they so easily can over a woman. But Tommy saw you. Saw what you did. He’s pretty sure no one else did, but he didn’t miss it. And suddenly he’s second guessing ever revealing such a power truth to you. Never imagining you’d have the confidence to start with the big fish.

 

 

Arthur storms through the front door of their residence on Watery lane like a damn bursting from its brink. He’s loud and fired up, easily swallowing up the space he fills.

“You an’ your fuckin plans, Tommy! Brought Kimber to our fuckin pub and now he wants our fuckin girl!” He hollers loudly. Tommy’s hot on his heels though far more composed, and John just a step behind, holding quiet, but the way he chews on the pick between his teeth reveals something is pressing at him just as much.

“What’s all this about?” Polly inquires impatiently at the scene before her as the boys come storming into her house. Coming in from the front room, unable to ignore Arthur’s ruckus any more than anyone else can.

“Tommy got his attention alright. Kimber showed up at the Garrison tonight. Took one look at our Vera and now he wants to see her again at Cheltenham.” Arthur continues, fire still burning wildly from his belly as he lays the blame for this mess squarely at the doorstep of Tommy and his ambition.

“I’ll handle it, Arthur.” Tommy tells him, calm and collected as if nothing touches him. Not even his brother’s wife being called upon like a whore.

Polly’s eyes suddenly grow wide as they scan from Tommy to Arthur and back again.

“Holly hell.” She breathes out wearily. Upstanding the ramifications of a man as powerful as Kimber insisting upon the time of a girl as powerless as Vera. Especially when Tommy’s so dead set of making a move for Kimber’s races.   
“I like the races.” You pipe up, appearing in the doorway behind Pol after all the commotion drew your attention as well. But as all eyes fall squarely upon you, you suddenly wonder if you should have just said nothing.

Arthur nearly chokes on a laugh as he turns to his brother.

“Ya hear that, Tommy? She likes he races. That’s just fuckin great, eh Tom.” Arthur barks, unable to control his own anger as he moves to you, looking his sweet girl straight in the eye as his heart breaks with the thought of what Kimber could do to you.

“No. No bloody way.” He tells you, pointing his finger squarely in your face as if to make a point before he’s had absolutely enough of this and storms out the house.

John moves to you next, looking you square in the. “We’re not gonna let ‘im lay a hand on ya. He’ll have to go through me first.” John promises you. Something fierce and protective in his baby blue eyes as he rubs at your arm before taking off after Arthur.

Letting out a long sigh, Polly turns to spot Finn standing in the midst of it all and moves to shoo him onto other more appropriate things to put his mind to. As the family slowly disperses, all going their separate ways. Some more distracted then others by this new wrinkle in Tommy’s ever-expanding hunger to drum up new business. It’s then, as the room begins to move again that you feel Tommy’s presence at your back. Feel him lean into you, his warm breath fluttering against the back of our neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“Follow me.” He tells me, his voice low and gravely, and there isn’t an ounce of question on his breath.

He pulls away just as quickly and as you turn around to face him, his gaze is awaiting yours. Meeting you dead on as he stares back at you completely expressionless, before he turns for the stairs and you know he expects you to follow.

So follow you do, it’s only halfway up that you glance back down and spot Polly standing by the green double door of the betting shop. Her lips pursed in a thin line, a word of warning in her eyes as you ascend the stairs alone with Tommy, up to the bedrooms that are currently unoccupied. Her disapproval feels heavy on your chest, but your feet keep moving as you turn and follow the back of Tommy’s gray suit jacket.

You’re barely in his bedroom and the door shut before Tommy turns on you. The expressionless look written on his face downstairs now gone, replaced with a blinding fury that narrows in his eyes as Tommy backs you against the wall.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He demands, his jaw tightly clenched, finger pointed sharply at your face.

“I don’t-“ You try, but he swiftly cuts you off.

“I saw you…” He sneers with a lack of patience.

Staring into Tommy’s eyes, he’s so bloody close you can hardly breathe, but you’re not backing down either. Even caught red handed. 

“Well It worked, didn’t it?” You shrug.

An edgy mocking laugh huffs off Tommy’s chest as he takes a step back from you with your unapologetic acknowledgement.

“Oh it worked alright. You got his attention. Now he wants you at the fuckin races, Vera.” Tommy tells you with a shake of his head. Pulling the case from his pocket with quick agitated fingers, plucking a cigarette and pinching it between the press of his lips.

“You told me it could be useful. If I could control it. That men wouldn’t stand a chance.” You counter, trying to show him you weren’t playing silly little games. You could be useful. You could help him take down Kimber. You had a place in this business and you wanted the same dreams of expansion he did.

Taking a quick pull, Tommy plucks the cigarette from his lips and is back in your personal space in a heartbeat.

“Ya, an’ ya know what men like Kimber are gonna demand? What it takes to break them?” He argues with you, his eyes blazing fury down upon you like the barrel of a gun. As if you were naïve and he had caught you playing with a fire that would only leave you burned.

“I can do it, Tommy. I can get him right where we want him and then we take everything.” You press, looking him square in the eyes, moving into his space this time. You’re not a fool. You know what men like Kimber want. You understand sacrifices must be made in dirty business. Lines must be crossed, and you think you’ve found yours. You don’t relish the idea, but you know in your heart you’re capable of it and you want to be taken seriously.

“You ever been with a man, Vera?” Tommy pushes right back at you. His piercing eyes searching yours as if to say he knows of things that are never spoke in this house. Things about you and Arthur that counter this little notion you have about what you’re capable of.

“Cuz I’ve never heard you an’ Arthur, an’ these walls are pretty fuckin thin. But not once in all these years.” Tommy throws in your face. 

He never judged what seems like an odd clause in his brother’s marriage. The fact that he married a girl of fifteen was bizarre enough. Everyone understood Arthur had done you a kindness, but Tommy knows that’s all it was. He’s shared a room with Arthur half his life, the other half they were side by side. He knows what it sounds like. Knows the creaks of the bed. The way the frame rattles against the floorboards, squeaking from its rusty hinges. And the distinct sound his brother can’t seem to not make when the deed is done. But he’s never heard any of that with you.

“I have.” You throw back boldly. Not intimidated by the weight Tommy’s throwing around, as if his evidence about your marriage somehow proves something about you.

Tommy stops. His eyes narrowing, searching yours as he takes a long pull from his smoke and Polly’s words come back to haunt him.

“You ever been with a man by your choosing?” He asks you with a deathly calm, as if his question isn’t a nail in a coffin.

And there it is. The truth right in your face. It’s always been there, always present, but rarely right beside you. It sucks the air right out of your lungs as it comes alive inside you. And suddenly the wind is ripped from your sails as you idyll out on vast empty seas. 

You open your mouth to speak, to answer him, but you falter as the words don’t want to come out. You don’t want to say it, speak of it, hear the sound of it rolling off your tongue as if the words alone are powerful enough to make it ever more real inside you once again. But your silence is deafening, and Tommy hears it loud and clear.

“Fuckin Hell,” Tommy responses, a heavy breath huffing off his chest as he takes a step back from you and scrubs his hand over his face with the news.

“I can do it, Tommy.” You say stubbornly, shutting the door on your past hard and fast before the strangling grip of it can fully reach your heart.

“No.” Tommy says, shaking his head, his gaze anywhere but you, as he pulls away at his cigarette more methodically than ever, lost in his thoughts.

You step in front of him, forcing him to look at you. “We have him where we want him. We can take everything.” You insist, trying to convince him to believe in you.

Tommy stops and looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes digging tunnels deep under your skin with the weight of his stare before you feel him run the back of his knuckles against the apple of your cheek. Dragging his thumb along the edge of your face in what you swear is the tenderest touch he’s ever given you.

“No” He says simply, his voice low and deep, but final. Before he slips past you and moves out the door.

 

 

Trotting down the stairs, his steps are as agitated as he feels. He shouldn’t be surprised by this news and in a way he’s not, but what surprise him is the anger the feels around it. Tommy reaches the base of steps and snatches up his cap. He’s heading out of the front of the betting shop when Polly steps through the green doors and halts his escape.

“Thomas,” She calls, waiting for him to turn back before she continues.

“You’ll get Kimber off her, right? She isn’t to be part of this deal.” She asks pointedly, wanting assurances. Her raven eyes full of determination, fiercely protective over a girl she loves like a daughter.

Tommy nods, his jaw as sharp as a razors edge as he pulls his cap on, and down low over his eyes.

“I said I’d handle it.” He answers defensively, suddenly angry with himself for ever putting the idea in your head. Polly was right, he’s in over his head with you. Stepping for the door, Tommy has a second thought of it at the last minute. The heat bubbling in his blood, scratching at the edge of his mind sends him turning back to her.

“Tell me you and Arthur took care of the man who did it.” He states, his voice edging with an anger he’s still trying to keep a handle on, still trying to wrap his mind around what he thinks of this turn of events, as his gaze awaits confirmation from Pol, as if he expects her to just know what he’s talking about.

“What man? Kimber?” Polly asks, not following, because despite Tommy’s assumptions, she can’t read minds. Not all the time anyway and his least of all these days it would seem.

“The Bastard-” Tommy erupts, the anger reeling inside him suddenly spurting free before he realizes the attention he’s drawing to himself in the betting shop and quickly lowers his voice, taking a step closer to her for discretion. “-The bastard that did that to her.”

Polly eyes Tommy carefully as she nods slowly to herself with understanding. The pieces aligning in her mind before she finally speaks with a tone far more collected than his. “So she finally told you…”

Tommy is having none of Pol’s calm sensible demeanor on this matter. He’s composed, but just barely contained. He needs assurance this matter has already been dealt with. That someone doesn’t hurt this family like that and think they can get away with it. As he tries to convince himself it’s not because of you. He couldn’t possibly be more angry because it happened to you. This is about family.

“Tell me he’s in The Cut.” Tommy demands, jaw tight and flexing, gaze unyielding like steel.

Polly holds her nephews eyes for a moment, unintimidated by the strife inside him before she slowly shakes her head.

“It’s a delicate matter, Thomas. Striking out would have drawn unwanted attention to us. Left us vulnerable to attack. We got her out. That’s what matters.” She explains rationally, because it’s clear Tommy’s wound too tightly to see reason and Vera hasn’t told him everything.

Tommy can’t believe what he’s hearing and from a woman as fiercely protective of her own as he knows Pol is. A huff lifts off his chest as his head slowly shakes in disbelief.

“No man is out of our reach in Small Heath.” He tells her, looking her dead in the eye without blinking.

“I want his fuckin name.” Tommy orders before he storms out and Polly knows that’s the man that was born out the trenches, born out of the tunnels, born out of putting men down like lame dogs without a second thought. That was the Tommy France gave them. A man capable of absolutely anything, heartless brutality most of all.


End file.
